Adventures of an American Borrower
by DaughterofHades16
Summary: This is the chronicles of two borrowers, Arrietty and Hollygreen Vent, living in America. they have many problems and adventures with the beans in their household. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY; THEY BELONG TO THEIR PUBLISHERS
1. Chapter 1

Hi! I'm Arrietty Vent. I'm about five and a half inches tall, and I have dark hair which I like to keep cut short. I'm a borrower. If you don't know already, borrowers are the people who inhabit the world. There are two kinds of us: "Innies" and "Outies". Innies live in houses and buildings that beans make. Beans, sometimes called "human beans", provide people like me with things to borrow. Most of them are vicious, and will squish a borrower on sight. All of them are immensely tall. "Outies" live anywhere outside

If you recognize my name, it's because I was named after a famous and very adventurous borrower. My mother, Hollygreen Vent, loved that story so much that she named me after her. She would tell me that story every night, and remind me that that's who I'm named after. The name, Arrietty, became very popular after that story was published.

To give you a little background of where I come from, my mother's parents were borrowers in England. They moved to America with their beans to a place called Chesapeake, Virginia. They had my mother in a large house, and she grew up speaking American. She had never learned to read, though. Me, I learned to read my listening in while the parent beans taught the younger beans. At that time, though, there were many families of borrowers living in that house.

My mother's parents didn't believe in women borrowing, so they taught my mother the essentials of being a housewife. My dad (whom my mother met at the house), on the other hand, saw the idea as an opportunity. He knew that I would make a very good borrower when I was a child. So, my mother taught me to sew, knit and tend fire while my dad taught me the basics of borrowing.

Sadly, though, my father died of a heart attack before he and my mother got to have any more children.

When we divided my father's assets, his friends got his clothes and such, while my mother and I got his more personal belongings. I got some of his borrowing things: his bags, his hooks (one of which had a long twine rope already attached to it), and his dental floss, which served as a backpack and rope.

After that, many of the other borrowers moved out for various reasons such as deaths, space issues, bad neighbors, etc. Eventually, my mother and I were the only ones left.

Now, let me describe the beans in our house. There are a mother and a father, and a few children. There's a teenage boy, about fifteen, who enjoys playing an instrument called the electric guitar; there's a nine-year-old girl who loves dolls; there's a toddler, who cannot talk yet. I'm not very anxious around him. Even if he sees me, what'll he do about it?

Understand? Now let me tell you my story.


	2. Chapter 2

I got out of bed in the morning and changed into my borrowing clothes. My borrowing clothes consist of a tatty shirt that patches in the elbows, pants made from borrowed thin denim cloth, and a belt made from string which held my father's hooks and a few paper clips (which were my idea). The pants were my idea, but my mother never approved. See, female beans used to wear dresses all the time when my mother was a girl. Over time, they moved on to trousers, so I did the same. Anyways, I always wore my borrowing clothes in the morning. They were comfortable, as all borrowing clothes should be. To top it all off, I slipped on a pair of cloth shoes. They were slip-on shoes that were almost socks.

I walked out of my room and into the kitchen we had under the floor. Our kitchen had a dollhouse table in the center. There are various types of seats: matchboxes, bent-wire campaign cork holders, old-fashioned wooden spools, etc. Our vent was near the end of the house that had the hot and cold water, and the gas for the beans' stove and fireplace. My dad hooked up our stove to the gas so that we could cook, and the hot and cold water to a makeshift faucet made of two straws that connected to the pipes. The faucet had stoppers so that it wouldn't keep flowing. Throughout the entire living space we had under the carpeted floor, we had Christmas lights hung around (just the plain kind with no color) that could be turned on and off with a switch. We have shelves made out of pencils cut in half, which held our food and pots and pans and such. Our pots and pans are made from thimbles and old coke bottle caps. And, of course, we had a few random borrowings jus lying around; the ones that had no place: crayons, short pencils, an old bead necklace, etc. The walls were covered with small envelopes, postcards, and dance programs.

I sat down at the table and ate a few doughnuts (they're actually Cheerios, but we call them doughnuts). I glanced at the clock. Our clock was a digital wristwatch without he straps, which told the date and the time. It was almost 8:00 AM, on a Thursday. The children would be in school and the father would be at work. I sighed. I walked into our sitting room, which was adjacent to the kitchen.

Our sitting room has many decorations, like bottle caps, postage stamps, and rings hanging from the walls. The walls are papered with several pieces of paper from a wastepaper basket. They're aligned very randomly, making no particular pattern at all. There's a dollhouse rocking chair, a ring-box—the kind that beans used to propose to one another—for a seat, and a child's building block as a coffee table. There's a carpet made from a checker-board patterned tablecloth and a fireplace made out of two ashtrays cut in half.

I picked up a long nail and a handful of wood shavings. The wood shavings I borrowed from the father bean's bedroom. He's fond of whittling and making model ships, and kept the excess wood shavings in a bag. My mother and I use them as fuel for our fire.

I tossed the wood shavings into the fire and stoked it with the nail. I sat down in the ring-box seat as I did so. After the fire was big enough, I hung the nail in its place. I sat back down and thought about what I might get to do today. Just as I did, my mother walked in. She looked at our supply of matches and frowned. There was only one left.

"Arrietty!" she called. I sighed and turned. "Yes?" I answered. "Do you wish to have fire for the rest of the week?" she asked. I rolled my eyes. "Yes." She pointed to the container for the matches; it's an umbrella stand made from a large pen. "Then, I guess you wouldn't mind going upstairs and borrowing me a few more?" she urged. I sighed. "Sure, whatever. " My mother smiled. "Good. Now, you just bring what you think you'll need, and be very careful around the beans. Make sure that you are not seen."

I'd heard this warning for as long as I could remember. Being "seen" is the worst thing that could happen to a borrower. If a borrower is seen by a bean, they get squished.

I nodded, and walked into my room. I grabbed a few borrowing bags, my hooks, put on my dad's dental floss, and hung a long hat pin from two of my belt loops. I walked back through the rooms, out of the sitting room, and was off.

* * *

Just outside the sitting room was a passageway that led to a ladder made of staples that took me up to the inside of the walls. I passed by the air vent after which our family was named. Just after it was a makeshift elevator made from one of those automatic tape measures. My mother and I had them all over the house. This particular one led to the upstairs bedrooms. I stepped up onto the tape measure and pulled a string that unlocked the system, sending me shooting up. I sped through a hole, which marked the 2nd floor. The elevator stopped there and I stepped off. I walked through the walls until I reached a turn-able near-the-ceiling piece in the wall molding. I turned it and entered the teenage bean's bedroom.

I enjoyed borrowing things from his room because there's always random stuff just lying around. Anyway, I turned the piece and emerged onto the bean's bookshelf. I could get the best view from there and could see everything. I could see the boy's guitar, which served as the centerpiece in his room. I latched my hook into the side and jumped down. I landed on his desk. I looked around and found a triangular piece of plastic. I recognized it as a guitar pick. I picked it up. It was made of thin, translucent blue plastic and had the words "Fender Medium" on it. I figured it would look good in my room, so I stuffed it in my bag.

I looked around and found something even more interesting. It was a rectangular object that, after I lifted it upright, came up to nearly my collarbone in height. I looked at it; it had a rectangle that looked like a screen near the top and a circle thing a little lower than the middle. "Whoa." I said. I threw it onto the top of the bookshelf and climbed up the twine rope. I grabbed this thing and exited through the molding, careful to close it behind me.

I traveled through the walls to the kitchen to get the matches that mom wanted me to get. I entered the hole that led to the spice cabinet (which was useful for cooking). Using the hook and rope, I climbed down and ran across the counter to the junk drawer

I used my feet to open the great drawer. I had to rummage awhile, but I managed to find some matches, plus some string (a borrower can do a lot with string), a few paper clips, and a few birthday candles with holders. All of which I stuffed into my bags.

As I climbed out of the drawer and closed it, the joints in my fingers and wrists began to ache. I knew what this meant. It was my feeling. That's what a borrower gets when a human bean's around.

I looked up. The mother was coming in! I quickly hid behind the nearby microwave oven.

I looked around the corner of the microwave and saw her come in she rummaged through the junk drawer that I'd just been in. I held my breath, hoping that she wouldn't notice anything was missing. Finally, she took out a pen and pad and wrote down what looked like a grocery list. Humming to herself, she left.

With a sigh of relief, I came out of hiding. My feeling had faded slowly. I climbed back up, collected the rope, and returned home.


	3. Chapter 3

My mother was waiting with supper.

She'd made spaghetti that night. I showed her the borrowings and put the matches in their place.

I sat down at the table and poured some spaghetti fragments onto a coin, which served as a plate. Our forks were made of dull bent wire, and our knives out of sharpened aluminum foil.

As we ate, I heard the teenage boy say loudly, "Mom! Have you seen my iPod?" She answered, "No, Taylor."

_So, his name's Taylor_, I thought.

Mom and I talked about our day. As I stuffed pasta chunks into my mouth, I thought about the house, and mom and I being the only ones left.

I must've looked glum, because my mother asked, "What's wrong, Edds?" Edds is my nickname.

"I don't know." I answered. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Well…" I started, "it just gets so lonely up here in this house. I feel like I could talk to one of the BEANS, I'm so alone. I mean…what if…what if we are the last ones?"

My mother clicked her tongue. "Oh, don't worry about that. I am more than certain that there are millions of borrowers in Virginia alone." She reassured.

"Yeah, I guess." I said. I swallowed another mouthful of spaghetti. "I think I'll turn in. I'm real tired from borrowing."

"Alright, Edds. Sweet dreams."

My bed is made from an old sardine can with a mattress, blankets, and pillows that my mother made. I had borrowed many things to decorate it, like buttons, post-it notes, pencil leads, and a felt doormat. My bedroom door is made from an old debit card. I have a chest of drawers made from several matchboxes, which holds my pants, shirts, accessories, and candles.

I sat down on my bed, thinking about my conversation with my mom. I still wasn't convinced, and I still felt alone.

I was exhausted and didn't want to think about it. I changed into my all-black pajamas, got into bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

Unfortunately, I had a terrible nightmare.

In front of me was a huge bean. Beans themselves are huge, but this one is bigger than normal.

Much, MUCH bigger.

It looked down at me and lifted its foot to squish me. Naturally, I ran. It kept chasing me and chasing me until –

I sat up, breathing heavily. I sighed in relief as I realized it was a dream. Then I noticed what woke me up. There was a low thumping noise coming from upstairs. I mean, I was used to footfalls from upstairs, but this was more rhythmical. It sounded like this: Thump-thump…Thump-thump.

I laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling if my room. The thump-thumping continued. I rolled onto my side and shut my eyes tight, but I still couldn't get to sleep. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to find out what that noise was if it killed me.

I got up and grabbed my quilt in case I got cold. I changed into my borrowing clothes and hung my long hat pin from the belt loops. I didn't bother putting on shoes. I moved my chest of drawers over to the right, revealing a small hole, which I use to sneak out (please don't tell).

I ducked into it and followed the thumping sound through many dark passages until it was right above me. I found the nearest wall and used a tape-measure elevator to get up the ceiling level. I found an air vent in the "floor", dropped to my hands and knees, and looked through.

I was looking into the bathroom, and there was someone in the shower making the noise. There was also more to the noise: after the thumps were a clap and the shower-er was singing.

_Buddy, you're a boy,  
Make a big noise playing  
In the street, gonna be a big man someday  
You got mud on your face, you big disgrace  
Kicking your can all over the place, singing  
We will, we will rock you!_

They were actually a good singer. The song was very catchy, and I started clapping along.

Which was a mistake, because my hands were all dusty. The dust got all over my face, and I sneezed.

I gasped as the bean in the shower stuck his head out. I backed up a little, but I could see well enough to recognize the bean as Taylor, the teenage boy.

He looked around, shrugged, and continued stomping, clapping, and singing. I breathed a relieved sigh.

The shower turned off. I averted my eyes as Taylor stepped out of the shower and clothed himself. When I looked back, he was brushing his black hair. He was styling it so that the front part covered his right eye and the rest spiked up in all different directions.

I made a move to get up. As I did, my quilt fell through the vent. "No!" I whispered hoarsely. I reached through the vent, but it was too late. It fell onto the bathroom counter.

As he set down the hairbrush, he noticed my quilt. "What the –"he said, picking it up. It looked so small in his hands. He rolled his eyes. "Probably Lucy's. Naw, I'm keeping this one." He walked out of the bathroom.

"Crap!" I exclaimed. I learned that term from the beans. I ran as fast as I could through the walls until I reached the vent in Taylor's room. I watched as he set my quilt down on the top shelf of his bookshelf and started typing on his computer. "Okay," I whispered to myself. I walked through the walls, turned the molding, and stepped onto Taylor's bookshelf. I looked. My quilt was right on the edge of the shelf and Taylor was watching videos with headphones in. I stepped forward, very lightly. As I got closer to the edge, I crouched lower. I ignored the sound of contents being spilled.

Finally, I grabbed the quilt. I stood up. Taylor was no longer on the computer. "Hmm." I said. I turned around and headed back toward the molding.

"HEY!" I heard from behind me, and then I was encased in darkness.

I was in some kind of cylindrical box, just big enough for me. It started to slide, dragging me over the edge of the shelf. I landed on a hardcover book; I gasped as I was moved around. The box turned on its side. I backed up and glued myself to the back of the box. Then it was turned upside down.

I heard a rubbing noise right outside the box, as if the boy were repositioning his fingers. I stood up as I felt the box get set down.

The book was removed. The boy peered inside.

I cringed, clutched my head, and curled into a ball. I couldn't stop thinking about how nany horrible things could happen to me. This was the worst thing that could happen! I've been seen!

I could feel his giant eyes staring at me.

"What the..."

"Get it over, fast."

He yelped in surprise. He shoved the box, probably out if reflex. I grunted as the box tipped and fell forward. I dropped onto my knees, my stiff neck cracking.

When I lifted my head, I saw that the boy had taken a few steps back and was pointing a huge finger at me.

"You—did you just—you can…talk" he stammered.

"Yeah, I can talk. Now, you're going to squish me, so just get it OVER. QUICK."

He took a cautious step forward as if I could jump him any second.

"Squish you? Why would I squish you?" he asked.

I hesitantly shifted my legs so that I sat on them.

"You're a bean. That's what beans do: squish people like me."

He took another step forward. "What's a bean? You keep calling me that."

"You are." I said, like it was obvious. Which it was. "You know, a human bean?"

He stared at me blankly. "I think you're mistake. I'm a human _being_"

"That's what I said. Human bean."

"OK, you know what, never mind." he said.

I stood. "Why won't you squish me then?" I asked.

"Well, it's not every day that I get to talk to a tiny person." he answered.

"I'm not tiny!" I protested. "You're huge!"

He scoffed. "Whatever."

He lifted his hand, palm up, near the box. "Are you gonna come out?" he offered.

I gasped and glued myself to the back of the box.

"Don't worry. It's safe." He assured.

I shook my head vigorously.

His eyes softened. "Please." He said.

Wringing my hands, I stepped forward. I took another step. Then another. Then another. Cautiously and with great hesitation, I did something that no borrower had ever done before.

I stepped onto his hand, kneeling on one knee.

He lifted me closer to his face.

"Wow," he exclaimed.

"Yeah," I agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

**SORRY BOUT THE LONG UPDATES! I have too many stories going on to keep track of DX**

**Review, Review, Review people!**

Things were going okay (meaning I wasn't squished yet), until he started asking questions.

He lowered his hand and held it in front of him. I had to look up in order to look at his face.

"So, do you have a name?" he asked.

I stood slowly. "Yes. My name's Arrietty Vent."

"Arr—Arri—What?" he stuttered. I rolled my eyes and helped him sound out my name a syllable at a time.

"You live in the house?" he asked.

I was worried about that question. I could probably get away with being seen, but there was no way any good could come from telling him where I lived.

"I…I can't…tell you." I said.

The next thing I knew, I was no longer standing on his hand. Now, the boy had me clenched in his fist.

"Tell me," he said menacingly.

I struggled against his grasp. "I told you, I can't."

He walked over to the window. He opened it, leaning out. "I wonder what would happen if I just dropped you."

I felt the color drain from my face as I looked down. I was horrified. I'd never been higher than the ceiling. This was a second story bedroom window. The boy's grasp was slowly loosening.

"Okay. Okay. Okayokayokayokayokayokayokay," I said between hyperventilated gasps.

I gave him a vague explanation of where I lived, telling him it was near an air vent. I was relieved when he didn't ask which vent. I also briefly explained about borrowers when he asked me.

"Wait, so...you've been sneaking around _stealing_ things?"

"Not stealing, _borrowing_," I said.

"How is it not stealing, might I ask?" he said.

"Well, think about it," I began, "If it was stealing, I would take what I have taken elsewhere other than the house. Whereas I take them under the floor and within the walls; technically, still in the house. Therefore, it's borrowing, not stealing."

"Good point."

After I made him _swear_ to keep me a secret, he let me go with a promise to see him again.

It was difficult to get to sleep that night.

**oOo**

"Arrietty!" called my mother. She rapped on the door. I groaned.

"Arrietty!"

"What!"

"You're still in bed?"

"Why, what time is it?"

"Almost four o'clock in the afternoon."

"Fine," I sighed. I slid out of bed and ran my fingers through my hair. I opened my door and there was my mother, looking stern.

"Goodness, what did you do last night? You're a mess."

"I was—"I stopped myself mid-sentence before I could say 'seen'. "I had a rough time sleeping last night. I dreamt I was seen."

My mother's eyes softened. "Well, I hope it makes you more careful when you go out, then. Come on, have a bite."

To appease her, I sat down at the table and had a few crumbs of chocolate cake. I was so tired, footfalls above me made me jump.

"What day is it again?"

"Friday," said my mother from the kitchen.

I nodded. I wondered if my promise counted for today. I ate more cake crumbs and felt the sugar rush kick in.

"Well, I'm going borrowing." I got up and was about to go to my room to change when my mom said:

"On an empty stomach? No, you're having dinner first." She brought in a shrimp. I groaned. Why did I always have to be fed before I did things? I obediently had my fill of shrimp before changing clothes, grabbing a bag and heading up to Tyler's room.

I took a few Nilla Wafers and a Ritz cracker from the kitchen pantry to make it seem like that was where I had been, then I made my way to Tyler's room.

When I got there, the lights were on, but the room was empty. I furrowed my brow. I unclipped my hook, stuck it into a groove in the wood, and dropped down the twine line.

I could hear shouting across the hall, then footsteps approaching. I hid behind a basketball on the lowest shelf in case it wasn't Tyler.

It turned out it was Tyler, but he didn't seem happy at all. How do I know? Well..

SLAM! The door swung open and Tyler burst in. He turned around and SLAM! The door shut. Tyler crossed the room and kicked the side of the bookshelf angrily, causing the entire thing to shake. I was knocked onto my back and the basketball rolled toward me. I stopped it with my feet. I pushed it away and it bounced off and rolled under the bed.

Tyler, who had sat down in his desk chair with his head in his hands, looked over and watched the ball roll under the bed. He then looked over to the bookshelf just as I stood and stumbled over to the edge of the shelf.

"Arrietty!" He looked at the rest of the bookshelf. "Oh, my God, are you alright?" He dropped from the chair to his knees and shuffled over.

"I'm fine," I said, looking up at him. "A little bruised, but I'll live," I joked with a small smile.

"Jeez, I'm sorry, I—I was just—"

"Pissed?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what's up?"

He told me that he and his family had just found out that his father had been fired two weeks ago and, during the day, had been going out job-hunting. He also said that he had found a job all the way up in New York.

"Wait, but—"I tried to process all of this at once. "That means...That doesn't mean…Does it mean..."

"Yeah, we have to move!"

A knock sounded at the door and Tyler turned around quickly.

"Ty? Are you okay?"

It was his mother.

Tyler instinctively grabbed me, took me to the desk, dumped out a plastic cup full of pencils, set me down, and covered me with the cup.

I heard the door open.

"Hey, hon. are you okay?" said Tyler's mom.

"I'm fine!"

"You don't sound fine to me," his mother pointed out.

"Mom. I _don't_ want to talk about it."

"Look, I know you're upset with your father—"

I couldn't just sit there, of course. I slipped my fingers under the lip of the cup, pulled it up slightly, and looked. Tyler was lying on his bed with one earphone in.

_He's not listening to anything_ I thought. _I borrowed his music player thing._

His mother was sitting at the foot of his bed talking to him.

I looked around. There was a pencil and a post-it note stack within arms' reach. I grabbed the tip of the pencil and snapped it off, then pulled a post-it note off the stack. I set the cup down and, trying my best in the dark, write in my largest handwriting:

_Meet me here tomorrow night at 11:00_

I folded the note in half and scrawled a large A on the front, then crawled out from under the cup.

"Tyler, it's not your dad's fault."

I snuck behind the laptop and peeked around the screen.

"Yes it is! He's the one who wouldn't tell us what he's been doing all this time—"

I followed the cable connected to the laptop to a hole in the back of the desk and dropped down.

"—and then he just dumps this on us now?"

By then I was back in the wall.

I ran all the way home, and by the time I got there, I was out of breath.

The lights were out and it appeared that my mom had gone to bed. I sighed. I had been prepared to tell her everything. Then again, it might be best to put it off until we had a good plan.

I slumped in a chair in the dining room, realizing just then how exhausted I was. I opened my bag. I pulled out one of the Nilla Wafers, placed its full weight on my lap and bit off a small mouthful. I then set it on the table, got up and put the rest in the pantry.

I brought my cookie to bed. I sat up all night, occasionally taking a bite and thinking.

This wasn't about being seen anymore. We couldn't move on on our own. There were no other houses. We'd never survive more than a day out there. The only option was staring me right in the face. And I knew my mom wouldn't like it.


End file.
